Page 11 of Squatch Out!
CHAPTER EIGHT
SEAN
J ust like last night, I was halfway back to my cabin before I was able to shift back.
Even though I make way better time as a squatch, with the daylight comes tourists who can pop up anywhere or at any time.
Although awkward, at least now if someone catches me walking bare-ass naked, they’d likely avoid eye contact and move away.
Giving them a story to share later, ‘ Y’all are not going to believe the walk of shame I saw on my hike today . ’
Turns out, I have bigger problems. Like the fact that the keys to my place were in my pocket when I squatched out in front of the campers, which means they are long-gone somewhere on the side of the mountain.
Climbing up onto my porch, my ears ring with Owen’s nagging voice: “Why don’t you keep a spare key somewhere, like under the welcome mat?”
Gritting my teeth, I silence his imagined voice with a well-aimed kick to the door, just under the knob. The second the wood splinters under my foot, I remember that I ran out so fast last night, I never locked the door behind me.
I want to bang my head against something as I carefully close the ruined door behind me. Thanks to the broken lock, it doesn’t want to latch anymore, so I brace it with the small table I keep my mail on. My dinner is still sitting beside my recliner, long gone cold, and the TV is on.
After the long night, and two shifts, I’m too tired to deal with clean-up, so I bypass it and walk straight to the back of the house and into my bedroom.
Way beyond weary, I don’t stop until the front of my thighs hit the edge of my bed, and then I just fall face first into the mattress.
I’m out the moment my body stops moving and sleep like I’m dead until Owen comes pounding at my door sometime after noon.
It’s not the pounding that wakes me so much as the crash of the busted door, followed by my brother’s shouting. “What the fu— Sean , how many times do I have to tell you to get a spare key?”
Letting out a long, painful groan, I force myself out of my bed.
I’m still naked, so I grab a pair of gray sweatpants lying beside my overflowing laundry basket.
At the sound of my shuffled steps coming down the hallway, Owen gives me a brief glance, probably to make sure I’m dressed, as he tries to fix the broken door.
Our houses were built around the same time and by the same builder, who built a dozen other homes for the park rangers to use.
The only difference between mine and Owen’s houses is that his has an extra guest room.
Since he was the oldest, we just assumed he’d be the first of us to settle down and have a family, so he’d need more room.
How does that saying go? The devil fools with the best-laid plans.
Standing back, I watch my brother fuck with the broken latch until he finally gives up with a heavy sigh. He braces the small table against it, the way I had it, and heads for the kitchen.
“How did it go?” I follow after him, where he’s already head and shoulders deep in my fridge, reaching for a beer, only to find?—
“What the fuck is this?” He holds up a colorful can pinched between his fingers like it might bite him.
“It’s cider. So, what happened?”
“Nothing happened.” Owen ducks back into the fridge. “Where’s the fucking beer?”
“I ran out.” Grabbing the can from him, I pop the top. “So nothing at all happened when you took Olivia back to her camp?”
“You think alcoholic apple juice is better than beer?”
I start to hand him the open can but then pull it away when he reaches out to take it. “First, tell me about Olivia.”
Owen makes a face. “The girl was fine. Just a little shook up. She even went along with the bear story, which doesn’t make sense if she’s up there looking for squatch. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble from her.”
I lower my arm, and he takes the can from me. Then, like a fucking kid trying something he’s certain he won’t like, he takes the tiniest, most tentative sip and makes a face.
“Fuck! This shit is awful.” After slamming the fridge door shut, he storms back into the living room, where he falls into my recliner.
Still gripping the can of cider, he wakes up my TV and starts scrolling until he finds the show I was trying to watch last night.
Leaning back, he pops up the footrest and tilts the can back to take a long drink.
Without looking away from the TV, he says, “You should go check on those campers. Make sure they aren’t making trouble.”
This motherfucker . Coming into my home, stealing my cider, and then my chair and my TV?—
“Why are you here?” I grit through clenched teeth. I’ve barely eaten. I haven’t slept for more than a couple hours for the last two nights, and he thinks he can just order me around like a–
Owen turns and gives me a droll look. “You wanna stand there and tell me about why the campers saw your boner slapping between your thighs last night? Or maybe why her cave smelled like sex?”
My mouth snaps shut, and I drag my hand through my hair. Yeah, I definitely don’t want to talk about that . He turns back to face the TV. “Then go see what they’re up to.”
And that’s when I realize he’s basically giving me an excuse to see Olivia again.
Well, I don’t have to be told twice—or was it three times?
I hurry back to my bedroom to dress. Considering I squatched out the last two times I saw her, I don’t bother picking anything nice. I simply throw on a t-shirt and shove my feet in a pair of slides I mostly wear around the house.
When I make my way back into the living room, my stomach lets out a mighty groan, so I make a quick lunch to eat on the way. Shifting usually makes me ravenous, and I’ve shifted twice now in the span of twelve hours.
Stomping past Owen, I pause long enough to shove my hand between the chair and into his pocket, grabbing his keys since mine were on the ring with my house key.
“Hey!” he shouts, but I just rattle them at him as I head out the door, not bothering to shut it behind me. I’ll need to make a trip to town sooner rather than later to fix it.
“Call if you need anything,” Owen shouts after me, and I flip him off before stepping down from my porch.
On my way up to the campsite, I decide to stop by the trailhead where I know Ben—the one who called Owen last night about the missing camper—is working.
Ben has been a park ranger since he got out of diapers, or at least that’s how he likes to tell it. The old coot should have retired decades ago, but he just keeps showing up. Someday I’m sure I’ll come check on him to find him finally taking the eternal nap, but that day is not today.
When I pull up, he pops his head out of the small ranger station—which is little more than a kiosk—with his signature smile and wave.
“Hey, Ben, how’s it been today?” I lean into the window he keeps open so the tourists can ask him questions without him having to get up from his stool.
“Not bad, not bad,” he says. “It’s been kind of quiet.” Reaching over me, he raps his knuckles against the wood sill. “Knock wood it stays that way.”
I rest my chin on my folded hands. “Why wouldn’t it stay that way?”
Ben’s rheumy eyes shift to look behind me before he leans in to whisper—loudly, “Because there was another sighting.”
I have to press my lips tightly closed to keep from smiling. “Oh? Another sighting of what?”
He looks around again, though there isn’t anyone near us who might overhear, even if we’re shouting. “You know, one of those sightings. A bigfoot sighting.”
I lean back with a dry laugh. “Really, Ben? You don’t believe that nonsense, do you?”
He gives me the most serious look I’ve ever seen from him, and my laugh quickly dies.
“Look, son, I know you don’t really believe these sightings are nonsense.
In fact, I think you probably know more about the strange things that live in these mountains than any of us.
” He purses his dry, thin lips. “So don’t go pissing on me and calling it rain. ”
This time, my laugh is genuine as I reach through the window and clap him on the shoulder. I should know better than to try to fool ol’ Ben. Hell, he probably knows more about the native legends around here than I do—and I grew up with them.
He leans back on his stool. “Whatcha doing up here anyway? I heard you and Owen had a long night.”
Yup. Good ol’ Ben doesn’t miss a thing. “I was just going to check on those campers. Is there anything I should know before I get there?”
Ben shakes his head. “They’re mostly staying to themselves.”
“Good.” I rap my knuckles on the sill one more time and then step back with a wave. “See you around, Ben.”
He waves after me, and I head back to Owen’s truck. With my hand on the door, I pause and then change my mind, deciding the walk up to the campsite will be good for me.
By the time I make it up to Windy Ridge, my legs are burning, probably because I’m wearing a pair of slides and not sensible boots, and I’m covered in a light sheen of sweat. The sun is getting low on the horizon, but my attention is on the quiet campsite.
The campers are nowhere to be seen. Although their vehicle is still parked beside the line of tents curved around a central fire that is cold, so wherever they’ve gone, they’ll be back. Likely they’re just taking advantage of the view and some day hiking.
My steps are light as I make my way around the tents, peeking inside each one to make sure I’m not going to accidentally startle someone who might have stayed behind.
But all the tents are empty. Including the last one.
The one that makes me pause. Rocking back on my heels, I breathe in the sweet scent seeping through the nylon, savoring the way it makes my sinuses tingle and my head spin.
Against my will—or at least my better judgment—I unzip the door of the unassuming green tent. It’s nothing fancy, just a basic dome tent. The kind you can buy just about anywhere.
Pulling back the mesh panel, I crouch down and stick my head inside. Everything is neat and tidy. Her sleeping bag is laid out on the left side, zipped up and resting on a blow-up sleeping pad. Her carry-on and a small electric lantern take up the other side, leaving a narrow space between the two.
Before I can stop myself, I crawl inside.
It’s far too small to stand up in, so I’m forced to stay crouched as I snoop like a freaking creep.
My nose twitches as I make my way over to her bed.
When I run my hand over the silky sleeping bag material, a low rumble rolls through my chest. At the top of the bed is a small pillow that I pick up and bring to my nose.
It’s saturated with her sweet scent. Peaches drizzled in honey and the flowery scent of her shampoo. My eyes slide closed, and I bury my face deeper into its softness as my pulse starts to pound in my dick.
I’m not sure how long I stay like this, but while I’m distracted, the sun sets, and darkness descends over the campground. But it’s the sound of voices that jolts me from my—whatever the fuck I’m doing.
Shit! What the hell am I doing?
I toss the pillow away from me and turn to flee the tent, but it’s too late. I can see the campers filing into their campsite through the mesh—which means there is no chance of sneaking out without being seen now.
Double shit!
Then I see her . Olivia is walking beside the bearded man. My eyes narrow. Tony .
A jealous snarl makes it way past my clenched teeth at the easy smile she gives him as they talk quietly.
I can’t look away as they come closer and closer.
I can’t stop analyzing the comfortable way she acts with him.
She isn’t trying to impress or flirt with him. Maybe they really are just friends.
When they reach the fire, they part ways. Tony heads toward his tent, and Olivia—my breath catches when she turns toward hers. Toward me .
I’m frozen. Completely taken by how beautiful she is. Her shoulder-length hair is tucked behind her ears, and she’s wearing a lightweight jacket instead of the soft hoodie she had on last night. Her cheeks are rosy from her hike and—then I remember where I am.
How the fuck am I going to get out of this mess? She’s almost to the tent, and I’m trapped with nowhere to hide.
Then my skin starts to itch, and the familiar tingle of my shift rolls over me—through me.
Oh no. No no no… this isn’t happening!
The shift is seamless, shredding my clothes as I try to curl my hairy seven-foot frame into the small space. Ducking down so I’m roughly the same shape as the dome tent I’m taking up space in.
On the other side of the nylon, Olivia pauses when she reaches the doorway, and her long fingers fall through the mesh I left open. “Huh, I swear I closed this,” she says quietly to herself before pushing through the opening and into the dark tent, where I blend well with the shadows.
She keeps her back to me and flips on the lantern. I blink against the sudden brightness, wondering how the hell she hasn’t noticed me yet. Biting down on my bottom lip, I watch as she shrugs out of her jacket. Today she’s wearing a pink t-shirt with a rhino that says, Save the Chubby Unicorns.
She turns around and freezes. Her brown eyes flare wide, and a soft gasp is the only sound that makes it past her lips before I lunge. Clamping my hand over her mouth, I swing her around so I can press her back against her soft bedding.